


changeling children

by sweetwatersong



Series: girls and wolves; both have sharp teeth [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Canonical Character Death, Fae Magic, Family, Gen, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 03:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16508096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwatersong/pseuds/sweetwatersong
Summary: The Fae may have given Wanda and Pietro their powers, but their mother gave them her love.





	changeling children

“It’s unnatural,” Pappi insists as Wanda wails, her round face screwed up in a picture of infant terror.

“She is a child, whatever she does is natural,” Ammi replies with exasperation. Her frazzled hair and the deep shadows under her eyes are proof of the toll the twins have been exacting on her, but her hands are still gentle when she reaches for her daughter in the cradle. “Now, now, whatever has made you so unhappy-“

A glimmer of red wisps off of Wanda’s skin and ghosts over Ammi’s long fingers.

Ammi freezes.

_The shadows in the room are tall and black and endless, swallowing up what light struggles into the nursery room. Ammi’s hands hang helplessly by her sides as she stares into the cradle before her. A breeze plays over her face, tasting of ashes and smoke, and on the cradle’s soot-stained sheets are two little shapes she knows are-_

She blinks. Once again the room is bright with the cheerful colors they have painted on the walls, all of it aglow in warm sunlight. The small space is cozy instead of haunted, filled not with rubble but patchwork blankets, soft toys, the armchair she sleeps in more often than not these days. In the cradle where her nightmares lay Wanda stares up at her with puzzled, dark eyes. One fist is now stuffed inside her mouth, her inexplicable cries exchanged for silence.

“Ammi?” Pappi asks in strained concern.

Ammi shakes the terrifying image off with a physical effort, banishing such thoughts to a place where she doesn’t need to deal with them yet. But it holds onto her heart with knotted tendrils, coiling and waiting under her breastbone, and she wonders what she would give to know such a thing would never happen.

She knows, of course. She would give her own life.

“There, there,” she comforts Wanda, smiling down at her beloved daughter. Pietro, who has long since proven he cannot sleep through his twin’s distress, lies curled against her with an infant's instinctive need for touch. “See? All is well.”

-

Wanda does not remember much of her early days, before the world clarified and she found her stumbling, tumbling feet. Still, she will never forget the dark dream of her mother or the incredible love that fostered it. Their childhood years are not without difficulties, Fae-touched as they are. But every time Wanda finds herself holding Pietro’s hand as he vibrates with the need to run away, to flee their troubles, she thinks of Ammi’s love and how it is endless and deep, willing to shelter them through it all. Because of that love, they do not leave.

They do not leave, but Ammi and Pappi do.

There is a bomb, there is the sound of explosions across the street, and Ammi yells at them from the kitchen to get under the bed. Her long fingers point them to safety as Pappi grabs her around the waist, pulls her towards the other bedroom. There is a bomb, there is a hole that opens in the floor below Ammi’s feet, and their mother dies making sure they are safe.

There is a bomb, there is its twin which crashes into the wreckage of the cozy apartment, and it embeds itself in the brightly painted wall across from them. Pietro wraps himself around her as if he can shield her, burying his head against her shoulder. There is a bomb, there is a deathly silence, and they wait to die. 

The bedroom is dark and cold when night falls, the wind through the walls tasting of ashes and dust, and Wanda huddles with her brother atop the patchwork quilt of their bed, watching the shadows swallow them whole.


End file.
